


Drafted

by paintitb1ack



Series: In Me [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Possession, Blood and Violence, Episode: s11e11 Into the Mystic, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Episode: s11e11 Into the Mystic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Torture, lucifer and sam's "relationship" was not consensual okay, samifer slash can fuck off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintitb1ack/pseuds/paintitb1ack
Summary: Broken by both physical and sexual attacks, Sam Winchester allows Lucifer to possess him. The archangel is absolutely delighted, and decides to spend as much time as possible wreaking havoc among humans.Back at the bunker and expecting the search to be difficult, Dean reluctantly teams up with Cas and Crowley to hunt Sam down. Fortunately (and unfortunately), he is wrong. Sam is very easy to spot, what with his face being plastered all over the news after a few violent escapades.Lucifer and Sam end up on the run with not only Dean, Cas, and Crowley on their tails, but the police as well.If only the archangel hadn't been so keen on getting himself on the FBI's Most Wanted List.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it possible to forgive someone who's taken everything away from you?

Dean is the first to wake up.

But his return to consciousness isn’t slow; it isn’t soft breaths and twitching fingers and a gentle sigh of relief.

It is terrifyingly fast; it is agonizing pain and nauseous confusion and a scramble to untangle himself from the arm draped over his chest.

“F-f-fucking, fucking shit,” Dean gasps, shoving the offending hand away. “Shit, shit, shit.” He rolls over onto his stomach, grasping at the floor with nails bitten too far down to do any good.

“Dean…”

The gravelly voice immediately knocks the air from the hunter’s lungs, thoughts flying through his head and landing on _Lucifer Lucifer Lucifer_ and he lashes out with one foot, a groan of fear slipping past his teeth as his boot connects with the angel’s ribs.

Ignoring his companion’s shocked gasp, Dean finally manages to shove himself to his feet, and he tries to focus, oh _God_ does he try, but his breathing is getting faster and his mind is racing and _it’s too much, it’s too much, it’s too much._ And there’s nothing to ground him, nothing to keep him from panicking, to keep this anxiety from getting worse and worse and worse until he finally—

_No._

Dean shakes his head, repeating the word like a mantra.

_No, no, no, no, no._

He can’t act rashly, he can’t, not right now, because he made a promise. He clears his throat and forces himself to say it out loud: “I made, I made a promise.” A deep breath, and then again, “I made a promise.”

Sam is all that matters now; he’s all that’s ever mattered. Dean loved Bobby, he loved his mother, and he certainly loves and cares deeply for Cas. But there is nothing - _nothing -_ more important to him than his partner in crime, his other half, his soulmate. Brothers they may be, but never has a romantic love for anyone else surpassed the unconditional love he has for Sam.

The hunter pulls at his chest, fingers scraping mindlessly against the dried blood that layers his t-shirt. He has to focus, to keep his mind centered on Sam, on figuring out what the hell he’s supposed to next. But to do that, he’ll have to remember.

The past few hours are a bit foggy, his only memories being that of Crowley zapping them here, as well as the searing pain from being impaled. So he turns his eyes to the room, to the large windows, to the doorway with the gold border, to the bed,

_The bed._

Everything comes back at once, every single moment of his time in this house, and it’s all he can do not to collapse. Clamping one hand over his mouth, he rushes to the bathroom on the opposite side of the room, barely getting the door closed before he vomits all over the floor. Tears prick at his eyes as he clutches his stomach, but there’s nothing he can do to drive away the sight of Sam, of his brother lying naked on that bed, on those sheet soaked in blood, on the look of absolute terror on the boy’s face.

**_It must be a crime, tasting this good._ **

Dean presses his hands against his ears, but the action, it does nothing. He can still hear him, can still hear Lucifer’s voice, can hear him saying

**_Was he this well-trained before me, or can I take all the credit?_ **

Nausea twists his stomach into knots, and suddenly he’s throwing up again, the contents of his stomach spilling out across the white tiles. “Please,” he murmurs weakly, the cry for mercy directed towards anyone willing to save him from this strife.

There is a loud bang on the bathroom door and the hunter jumps, eyes wide with fear.

**_He was a tough one to break, you know. But I guess it’s difficult to keep your cool when you’ve got an archangel’s dick up your ass._ **

His breathing hitches.

“Dean?” A voice calls gently. “Are you alright?”

It’s Cas. He remembers now, he remembers Lucifer abandoning Cas’ vessel for Sam’s much more familiar one.

But along with that memory comes the recollection of how they got to this point. There is only one reason Lucifer was able to escape The Cage, and that reason is standing on the other side of the door. And suddenly he’s no longer afraid; he is absolutely and thoroughly enraged.

 **_Oh, no, no, no. Don’t be difficult. If you don’t do it,_ ** **I** **_will._ **

A low hiss escapes the hunter as he digs his nails into his palms.

“I know you’re angry,” Cas continues, but his voice trails off as he sees the door handle begin to turn.

Dean opens the door slowly and, even after the angel comes into view, he just stands there. One, two, three minutes go by, and he just looks down at his feet, gaze locked on the small bit of vomit that stains one of his shoes.

And Cas remains quiet the entire time. He doesn’t try to comfort him or try to explain himself. He doesn’t say a single word, waiting for his friend to break the silence.

**_Look at what a good, little boy your baby brother is. Right on the bed, just like I asked._ **

Dean turns to him, the look in his eyes that is normally reserved for the monsters they hunt now directed at Cas. “Angry?” He says with a small laugh. _“Angry?”_

The angel takes a step back.

 _“Angry_ was what I was when Dad made his deal. _Angry_ was what I was when I was sent to purgatory. _Angry_ was what I was when Adam said “yes” to Michael.” He shakes his head, glare never once leaving the angel’s face. “This isn’t _anger,_ Cas. This isn’t _rage._ This is something they don’t got a name for ‘cause this is the first time anyone on earth has ever _felt_ it.”

“I’m sorry—“

“This isn’t something you just come back from, Cas! You _lied_ to _me_ , you _betrayed_ _Sam,_ ” he says, voice tinged with frustration. “You know how scared Sam is of Lucifer. I mean, he could’ve gotten over it. Maybe, maybe after a little while. But you said “yes.” You let him torture Sam, let him, let him, let him…” His breathing catches, but he manages to finish the sentence: “Let him rape him. My little brother, Cas.”

The angel looks like he’s been slapped. He remembers what happened, remembers what Lucifer did, and he’s never felt more ashamed in his entire life. But that wasn’t _him,_ it was _Lucifer_. Surely Sam and Dean won’t blame him for that. “I didn’t know—“

“Don’t bullshit me. You know what Lucifer is. You know what he can do. And you let him.”

“Dean—“

A growl in his throat, the hunter grabs Cas by the collar and slams him against the wall.

 **_I’m keeping the phone on for this, so you’ll be able to hear_ ** **absolutely everything.**

Fear flashes across the angel’s face for a moment, but he quickly rights himself.

“I’m gonna be straight with you, Cas.” Dean is leaning heavily against his friend, most of his weight falling on the arm he has pressed against his neck. “The only reason you’re still alive is because I can’t rescue Sam by myself. After we do that…” He heaves a sigh and pulls back. “…we’re done.”

A deathly white floods the angel’s skin. Dean steps past him, and his entire body tenses up. He’s never been truly afraid of the hunter; through all of the times Dean has tried to kill him, he’s felt more sorrow than anything else. But this time is different. Terror floods his veins, further infecting him with every move Dean makes. He taps one finger against thigh. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, but it’s too late.

**_What about poor Sammy? You’re just gonna leave him all alone again?_ **

Dean tugs at the amulet his brother gave him when they were kids. “Sam and I don’t need you anymore. Not after all this.”

“Dean, please.”

“Don’t.” The older Winchester shakes his head. No matter how much he hates Cas, this is still one of the most difficult decisions he’s ever had to make. “Just don’t.”

**_You hear that, roomie? Turns out your brother is a big, fat abandoner, just like your daddy._ **

Dean gestures for the angel to come closer. “Come on. Crowley’s waiting for us back at the bunker.”

Cas nods, chest tight as he moves in his direction. “Alright,” he replies, the word almost inaudible. He reaches out and takes Dean by the hand, but the hunter jerks free of his grasp.

**_You ready for this, Sam?_ **

Dean can feel the angel flinch, can hear the sharp hiss he makes as he draws quickly away. And, though he would normally hate himself for it, he feels an incredible amount of power. He can’t even begin to describe how good it feels, how he’s practically _turned on_ by the sensation of having control over one of the two beings who’s turned his life to shit.

After a couple of moments, Cas gently places his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Touching him, it feels wrong, which makes him wonder if it’s actually possible that he’ll ever be forgiven for this. He looks over at him, but the hunter won’t even spare him a glance.

_n-n-no_

Dean feels a stab of pain at the sound of his brother’s voice, and suddenly he comes upon the realization that he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to handle this.

**_Good._ **

He closes his eyes. “Let’s go,” he says softly. And they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! School is coming to an end within the next three weeks, so I'll be updating pretty regularly around that time.  
> \--------  
> I decided to take on the challenge of giving Dean a panic attack. He's not had too many in the tv series, so it was a bit difficult figuring out where to place him on scale concerning symptoms. The difference, I suppose, between his and Sam's anxiety attacks are that his are tinged with anger, fear, and frustration. Sam's, on the other hand, are filled with confusion and absolute terror. Sam's response to these attacks is to fight back verbally, though that usually ends up with him being (physically, psychologically, sexually) beaten into submission. Dean responds with violence, amongst other similar things.  
> \--------  
> Once again, the views of the characters don't necessarily mirror my own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Withholding the precise deadline will apply the emotional pressure more evenly. Where possible, please give me an explicit verbal indication of your anxiety levels." - Eurus Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this. Writing possession is a bit new for me.

Lucifer is just stepping out of the shower when he feels Sam begin to stir. He smiles at the slight tickle in his stomach and wraps a towel around his waist.

It’s been nearly a day since they vacated the house, but the younger Winchester hasn’t been sleeping so much as making an attempt to retreat as far back into his own mind as he can. It’s a bit silly and quite futile, yet he tries all the same. Lucifer’s only concern is as to whether Sam is doing this because he is afraid, or because he is gathering the strength to reclaim his body. The boy outsmarted him once before, but that was seven years ago, and he doesn’t seem to be nearly as strong as he once was. Or perhaps that’s just the effect Lucifer has on him. Either way, the archangel understands that the best thing to do at this point is to keep this terror in place.

Lucifer presses his palm against the mirror, wiping away any condensation. Green eyes stare back at him, one of the many physical attributes Sam shares with his brother. Lucifer is many things, but he isn’t blind; he knows how attractive Dean Winchester is. But his good looks are more on the conventional side. Sam, on the other hand, is one of the most beautiful of earth’s creations, a human with the grace and savagery of an archangel. He is a fallen son of Man, conjoined with a fallen son of God. To say that the two of them are a match made in heaven might sound a bit cliché, but that doesn’t mean the statement is incorrect. Lucifer and Sam were meant to be together from the beginning. If only the latter would truly understand that.

The archangel tucks his hair behind his ears, clicking his tongue as a few strands fall back in front of his face. “Did you ever think about how much easier your life would be if you just chopped all of this off?” He asks, and his stomach immediately does a small flip. Taking the rubber band from around his wrist, he ties the auburn locks into a small ponytail. “I’m just messing you, kiddo,” he says, tightening the band. “I could never do that. I mean, it’d be hell of a lot more difficult to keep a grip on you if there was nothing for me to pull.”

A soft whine lingers in his ears as he exits the bathroom and tosses his towel onto one of the motel beds. “Oh, come on,” Lucifer chides, picking Sam’s pants up off of the floor. “You’ve gotta relax, babe. You’ve already given me everything I want.” He slips the thick, brown belt out of its loops. “Sex… Possession…” There’s a loud  **_smack_ ** as he slaps it against his thigh. “Your body is just the gift that keeps on giving, isn’t it?”

The fluttering in his chest becomes a sharp pain as Sam’s anxiety heightens.

Lucifer licks his lips, slightly irritated. It seems that, contrary to his belief, fear isn’t the way to go on this one. He’s going to need to break Sam, to pound him into submission. He thought he already did that when he fucked him back at the house but, as always, the terror the hunter felt was probably due more to the thought of his brother dying than anything else. The archangel scoffs. God forbid the idiot look out for himself for once.

Eyes flicking towards the clock on the side table, Lucifer runs a hand through his hair. “You know what, we’ve got some time before the real show begins, so why don’t you and I have a little sit-down? But this time it’ll be just the two of us. No interruptions from some rich, white folks or bumbling, big brother. Not that they have chance in the first place, considering they’re all dead---” A sudden agony rips through his stomach and the archangel falls to his knees, barely managing to hold back a cry of shock and rage. 

“Oh, you bitch,” he gasps after a moment. “You fucking, you fucking  _ bitch.”  _ Curling in on himself, Lucifer closes his eyes and takes a breath. “Guess I’m gonna have to calm you down myself.” Arm raised, he snaps his fingers, and immediately his entire body goes limp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering how short this is, I was going to wait until I'd finished the next chapter to post this one, but I got a bit impatient. Chapter 3 should be out within the next day or two.  
> \-----  
> I'm still a bit numb from the most recent episode (12x21), mainly from what occurred during the first few minutes. I just want the boys to be happy, alright?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Be blind... don't be brave." - H.L.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is already in the tags but, just so you're aware, this chapter deals heavily with the topic of rape.

Sam is on his feet the moment the door begins to open, his shaking hands not from fear so much as anticipation. Lucifer may have implied that the torture would cease if he let him in, but he’d be a fool if he wasn't prepared to face yet another one of the archangel’s lies.

The moment he was possessed, he imagined himself back at the bunker, and has spent the entire day in his room, sitting at his desk, mindlessly carving Dean’s face into the wood using an X-acto knife the older Winchester bought him for his birthday. It was while he was needling the freckles over his cheekbones that he first burst into tears. He is never going to see Dean again; he doesn't need Lucifer’s confirmation of that fact. Dean is lying on the second floor of that house, a hole in his otherwise perfect chest. Cas is probably dead as well, not that it matters. He’d gotten exactly what was coming to him. Or at least that's what the hunter wants to believe.

Sam tightens his fingers around the knife.

_i’m ready i’m ready i’m rea_

The door slams open and the hunter jumps, all of the air gone from his lungs.

“Well, well, well,” Lucifer says, stepping into the room. “What do we have here?” His eyes immediately lock onto the makeshift weapon Sam holds and he releases a huge sigh. “Oh, come on, roomie. You know better than that.” Gesturing, the archangel telekinetically pulls the knife out of the hunter’s grip. He allows it to waver for a moment, slicing Sam across the face before yanking it across the room and into his own hand.

“Wait.” The hunter swallows hard, retreat cut short as he backs into his desk. “Please, just--- just wait.”

Lucifer tosses the knife aside. “Calm down, sweetheart. I’m not gonna hurt you. It's just…” He glances about the room, almost disappointed. “I let you pick a place for you to chill out while you’re benched, and you choose… this? It’s a bit sad, Sammy, I gotta say.”

Sam nods, a tight smile on his face as he turns away from the devil. Apart from being at his brother’s side, this is home for him. For the vast majority of their lives, he and Dean ended up camped out in motel rooms, never knowing how long their stay would be until the moment their dad bundled them into the back of the Impala. But this place is constant. This place

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’ve got good memories here.”

The hunter turns back around, a bit startled. There had been no thoughts attached to what he’d been feeling. They were emotions, nothing Lucifer should have been able to latch onto, and yet he’d plucked the memories from his mind without missing a beat.

“We’re sharing the same body, remember?” Lucifer taps a finger against his temple. “You don't need to have any thoughts running through that silly head of yours for me to know what you're feeling.”

Sam digs his nails into his palms.

_stupid stupid stupid_

“I’m a bit disappointed, Sam, I’ve gotta admit. I mean...” Lucifer shrugs. “It may have been six years for you, but it was _four thousand, three hundred, and sixty-eight_ for me, so if anyone should have blanks regarding our time together…”

Chin tucked against his chest, the hunter swallows hard. This isn’t fair. But, then again, it never has been. At least before this the only way Lucifer could acquire unspoken information was by reading his mind. Now that they are one, there are no more secrets. All of the archangel’s desires are at his fingertips.

“Hold on.”

Sam looks up to see Lucifer pointing a finger in his direction.

“You haven’t actually forgotten, have you?”

Blinking down at the floor, Sam rubs at his neck. He doesn’t need to answer the question in order for the archangel to know that

“Everything?” Lucifer is grinning hard enough to pull a muscle. “You remember _everything?”_

Sam takes a deep breath. The devil might be in charge, but they are literally on the hunter’s turf, and he’ll be damned if he allows himself to be taken twice in twenty-four hours. He squares up with Lucifer, ignoring how his captor raises his eyebrows in amusement. “I remember enough.”

“Good. That means I won’t have to retrain you.” Lucifer moves forwards, pausing barely a foot in front of Sam. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it,” he finishes, voice low as he reaches out and touches their fingers together.

Panic sears his skin the moment their hands meet, but Sam manages to keep from pulling away. “Please,” he says thickly.

Lucifer hesitates, but eventually he drops back, nodding almost courteously. “You’re right. We’ve had enough sex for one day.”

_that wasn’t that wasn’t sex_

“Well, of course it was.” The confusion on the archangel’s face is quite clear. “Do you need, like, a diagram or something? ‘Cause I’ve got a pop-up book that told me everything _I_ need to know.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, please,” Lucifer chuckles. “You can’t _rape_ a willing participant.”

A renewed rage floods Sam’s veins. _“Excuse_ _me?”_

“You _wanted_ it. Not as much this time, but in the past, in The Cage---”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“You’re using the word _fuck_ now?” Lucifer smiles with what looks like pride. “I really _did_ do a number on you.”

Sam’s lips curl into a snarl, to which the archangel rolls his eyes.

“ _Yes,_ I’m serious. You _got it up,_ Sam. How could you you have done that if---”

“That’s a stupid question and you know it.”

“Alright, so it’s _partially_ due to biology,” Lucifer concedes. “But that doesn’t mean it was… well, rape.”

“Of _course_ it was!” The hunter’s pitch is reaching new heights, so exasperated is he.

Lucifer crosses his arms over his chest, irritation tinging his words. “What part of killing demons, of taking out Michael, of _saving the world,_ was _rape?”_

“The part where _I_ didn’t want to do _any_ of it!” Sam shouts, the revelation as shocking to him as it is to his captor. “Not only did you physically r-r-rape me, but you infected my mind, made it so that I couldn’t do anything without questioning every goddamn thing I _saw_ or _heard_ or _felt_ . Half the time, I didn’t even know if _Dean_ was real. For _months,_ I fucking thought that I was still in The Cage, that I was still with _you._ What you did to me, what you did…” He shakes his head, adam’s apple bobbing as a sense of hopelessness creeps back in. “I’m lucky I’m still alive.”

 _“Lucky?”_ The archangel repeats.

Sam averts his eyes, no longer able to keep Lucifer’s gaze. “Back there?” He starts softly. “In that house? That was a slap on the wrist compared to what you did to me in hell. But I’m not gonna forget it. Not with the word you carved into my chest, not with the feeling of, of Cas’ tie brushing against the back of my neck, of you using _his voice_ while you did it.” He closes his eyes for half a moment, trying to forget the gravelly **_tell me you want me to fuck you_ ** and his own cry of _please please please_ before the desired phrase was finally dragged out of him. “You ruined me. Again.”

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic.”

“Melodramatic?” Sam steps into his space, his flannel just brushing the archangel’s t-shirt. “You _raped_ me.”

Lucifer grimaces. “I really hate that word.”

“Then don’t fucking rape people!”

“Fine, you know what?” The archangel raises both hands as he retreats a couple of inches. “If we’re gonna use _your_ words, sure, yeah, I guess I could stop “raping” people,” he says, putting air quotes around the offending word. “But that’s not gonna happen, and do you wanna know why?”

“Saying “no” obviously won’t make a difference, so go ahead,” he says, gesturing for Lucifer to continue. “Enlighten me.”

“You’ve never witnessed it from my angle. You can’t even _imagine_ the feeling that comes from owning someone like that.” Smiling up at the boy, he takes his shirt between his fingertips. “The _raw, undeniable power_ that comes with having that much control over a human being. Whoever it is, they become my bitch. My slutty, little bitch.” His gaze flicks to Sam’s lips, then back to his widening eyes. “Well. _You_ know.”

The younger Winchester wants to reach out, to shove him away, to tear his arm off, to rip out his unrelenting vocal cords with his teeth. Seconds earlier, he might’ve been tempted to do any one of those things. But his words, his _touch,_ are twisting his stomach into knots. Fear is paling his face, and Lucifer smiles.

“But you’ll get the chance.” The archangel moves his hand higher, digits just skimming the hunter’s nipples.

Sam’s breathing hitches as his body begins to respond. “What?”

“That power. You’ll feel it for yourself tonight.”

“Where are we going?”

“To a tailor.” Lucifer pulls away, drawing from his boy a sigh of relief. “And then a bar. You’re a pretty good-looking guy so, I figure if we spruce up your wardrobe a tad, we’ll have a new slutty, little bitch in our net before closing.”

Sam shakes his head once, then twice, horror creeping into his expression. “No, you can’t. You can’t, you can’t---”

“Look,” the archangel cuts him off. “I don’t have much time before your angel buddy catch up with me - if he's even looking for you - so…” He gives a half smile, not even remotely troubled by the thought of forcing his boy on another man. “Why not have some fun?”

“You can’t make me, you can’t make me do this.”

“Of course I can. And I sure as hell am gonna enjoy it. But hey.” He claps Sam on the arm, and the hunter can’t help releasing a small cry as he practically jumps out of his skin. Lucifer massages his bicep. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it too.”

_please please please_

“Again with the begging,” the archangel says, a lustful growl in the back of his throat. “You certainly know how to turn a guy on, don’t you, Sammy?” He extends one arm, taking his boy’s chin in his grasp. “Like I said…” He touches a thumb to his lower lip. “The gift that keeps on giving.”

_lucifer please_

“Say it,” the archangel murmurs. “Say my name.”

Sam blinks back tears that threaten at the corners of his eyes. “Lucifer.”

The archangel releases his grip, but his gaze his still one of desire; he’s not done yet. “On your knees.”

“But you said---”

Lucifer locks his jaw. “On. Your. Knees.”

Sam obeys slowly, mind numb as he gets down on the floor. The archangel takes a step forwards and his chest tightens, unable to move even though his captor’s jean-covered cock is a half-step away from brushing against his lips.

But Lucifer doesn’t go to unbuckle his belt. Instead he threads his fingers through Sam’s hair and says, “Beg me not to do it.”

_what_

“Beg me not to do it,” he says again. “Beg me not to fuck you.”

“Lucifer---”

“Right here, right now, beg me not to fuck you. Beg me not to bend you over that desk and take you like the bitch you are.” The archangel’s words are becoming more breathless. Any moment now, he’s going to deliver on these threats. He’s going to deliver and Sam will have no way to stop him. “Beg me not to turn you back into the cock-hungry slut you were in The Cage. Beg me not to---”

“Alright!” Sam looks up to find Lucifer staring back at him, his taunts ceasing the moment his boy’s protest pierced the air. “Alright, just… Please. Please don’t do this.”

“I’m not hearing sincerity.”

 _“Please,”_ the hunter repeats, this time a bit more desperate. “I don’t, I don’t want you to fuck me.”

Lucifer purses his lips thoughtfully, but eventually he gets out of Sam’s face, instead grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him to his feet. “And I won’t,” he says. “As long as you cooperate. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Sam nods immediately.

“Good.” The archangel glances down at his bare wrist. “Ah, shit, you’re making us late.” He sighs. “For now, I guess, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. Word is you’ll be heavily involved in a couple of hours.” He gives his boy a quick wink. “See you in a bit.”

“Wait!” Sam cries out, but he’s already gone.

_shit shit shit_

His breathing quickens exponentially, lungs barely able to keep up.

_alright okay alright alright_

He turns around and leans against his desk, gaze locked on the carving of Dean’s face.

_i can i can get out of this_

Everyone capable of rescuing him is dead.

_i’ve done it before_

Even more importantly, in just a few hours, Lucifer will be forcing Sam to put another person in danger.

_i can do it again_

**_Can you really?_ **

Lucifer’s words barely register before Sam is suddenly flung back onto his bed, skull banging against the headboard. Arms and legs immobile, it’s all he can do not to panic as the wall in front of him parts, allowing him a perfect view of each and every move the archangel makes.

_shit_

**_Keep your eyes on the screen, bunk buddy. I’m gonna need your full attention for this._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My updates for this book and 'Consequences' will alternate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You forgive how God forgives. Would you have [killed me] quickly, or would you have stopped to gloat?” - H.L.

Crowley looks up on hearing the flutter of wings, hand shaking ever so slightly as he takes a sip of his scotch. He’s double-crossed the Winchesters too often for him not to know what Dean is going to do once he gets his hands on Castiel.

“You certainly took your time,” the demon says smartly, but the smile drops from his face the moment he realizes that only two of his cohorts have made it back to the bunker, and neither of them is the one he and Dean actually set out to rescue. Crowley takes his feet off of the table and puts his glass down. “Where’s Moose?”

The muscles in Dean’s jaw tighten as he shrugs Cas’ hand off of his shoulder.

The angel looks like he is about to say something, but the low growl that rumbles in the back of his friend’s throat is enough to get him to back off. He watches as Dean leaves the room, hoping that maybe he’ll have calmed down by the time he gets back.

“Well?”

Cas’ gaze flicks to Crowley. Everyone, both in heaven and hell and everywhere in between, knows what he did, how he let Lucifer in. To say it’s embarrassing to have screwed up even worse than the King of Hell is a vast understatement, even more so now that they’re in the same room. At least Crowley is no longer wearing a smirk, which hopefully means that he understands how dire their situation really is.

Cas takes a breath. “Sam has been possessed by Lucifer.”

Crowley sits back in his chair. “Damn…” He’s not always been a fan of the younger Winchester, especially considering the amount of times he’s made attempts on his life, but he’d never wish this on him. He’d never wish this on _anyone_. “What did it?” He asks after a moment.

The angel furrows his brow. “‘Did it’?”

“As in,” the demon says slowly, “why did he say yes?”

“Oh.” Cas’ eyes flick to the space his friend just vacated. “Dean was stabbed. By Lucifer.”

“With what?”

Fingers pulling at his sleeve, Cas quietly replies, “My angel blade.” Humiliation has turned his cheeks a light pink, and Crowley does all he can to keep from smiling.

“How perverse,” the demon muses, hands folded in his lap. Cas has a good deal more to answer for than he previously believed. “Was that all?”

“Yes,” Cas says, and this time Crowley really can’t wipe the grin off of his face.

“Nothing else helped prompt his possession?”

“No.”

“Huh.” The demon taps his fingers together. “Has anyone ever told you what a shite liar you are?”

Cas looks almost offended. “I’m not---”

“Let’s forgo the dramatics, shall we?” Crowley leans forwards, both elbows on the table. “I don’t give a damn that you're lying. Then again…” He shrugs. “ _I’m_ not the one who wants your hide tacked up against my wall.”

“What happened to Sam was not my doing.”

“That’s quite the defense.” The demon thumbs the glass of scotch, not once taking his eyes off of Cas’ face. “How do you think Squirrel will take it?”

 _“Lucifer_ was in control.”

“Yes, and remind us how that happened?”

The angel turns away, stomach in knots. How is he supposed to combat what he knows is the truth?

“If you have any sense at all,” Crowley says, voice no louder than a whisper, “you will turn tail and run.”

“No.” Cas shakes his head. “No, Dean needs me.”

The demon raises the drink to his lips. “And what happens once you are no longer of any use to him?”

“He’s---” Cas swallows, stumbling over his words. “He’s my, my friend.”

“As was Samantha, if memory serves.” Crowley cocks his head. “Or did you forget that minor detail?”

Cas drops his eyes to the floor, gaze catching on his hands, on the fingers that caressed his friend’s body, at the palms cloaked in the blood of Sam’s chest, thighs, and ass. The angel’s shirt is stained with it as well, along with his tie and pants and every part of him except for his face. After Lucifer claimed Sam, he took care to wash himself off, wiping all of his victims’ insides off of his skin in front of the sink. When he tried to kill Dean, however, blood washed over his arms once more, leaving Cas dripping in red for the third time in less than twenty-four hours. Crowley is right. Lucifer may have been in charge, but he was only in charge because Cas allowed him in. All of this, all of their deaths, every moment of torture that was inflicted on Sam is his fault.

“Too late,” Crowley says quietly, and Cas immediately turns towards the entrance to the War Room.

Dean is back, but he doesn’t spare the angel so much as a glance. Instead his eyes are on the demon, who gives him a slight nod as he moves down the stairs.

Cas notices with a bit of concern that his friend is carrying a six-pack in one hand and a laptop in the other, the latter of which he eventually realizes doesn’t actually belong to him; it’s Sam’s.

There is a small drawing on the top, a sketch Dean made of David Bowie’s eyes that, at his request, Cas burnt into the metal. The older Winchester was a bit nervous when Sam discovered what he’d done, mostly because he was worried that he wouldn’t like it, but his little brother’s reaction was not one of anger, or even annoyance. He was happy to say the least, this tiny distraction from The Trials drawing from him a smile bigger than any Dean had seen in months. Sam pulled the other man into his arms, face burrowing into his shoulder, skin flushing as Dean ran a hand through his hair. “I love you,” Sam murmured into his neck, to which his brother replied softly, “I love you too, Sammy. I love you too.”

Cas watches his friend for a moment. The last thing they need right now is for him to get drunk. It’s true that he’s built up a tolerance to alcohol over the years but, seeing the ten or so empty bottles already scattered about the room, the angel believes that it won’t take too much more to push him over the edge. “Dean, are you sure---”

The older Winchester slams the six-pack down on the table, cutting Cas off. “Shut up,” he says, voice so threatening it makes even _Crowley’s_ heart skip a beat. “You don’t get to judge me. You’re here for one reason and one reason only: to help us find Sam.”

Cas looks from Dean to Crowley, then back to Dean. “‘Us?’” He repeats, confused. “You trust him?”

Dean places Sam’s laptop next to the beer. “No.”

“Thanks,” the demon says, taking another sip of his drink.

“But at least he didn’t rape my brother.”

Cas drops back, mouth open, wanting to protest, to apologize, but all he can manage is another “Dean,” to which the older Winchester fixes him with a glare and replies, “Help us or fuck off. It’s your choice.”

Both demon and angel keep their eyes on Dean as he sits down and cracks open his first bottle of beer. Crowley wagers they won’t be more than three hours in before Dean goes to retrieve another pack from the fridge.

“What do you need?” Cas asks finally, and Dean gestures towards the demon.

“Intel,” Crowley replies. “Locating Lucifer won’t be enough if we don’t know how to yank him out of the indominus’ meat suit.”

“He’s gonna check out what’s going on downstairs,” Dean adds, kicking his legs up onto the table, “so _you’re_ gonna head in the opposite direction. Hash it out with a couple of your angel buddies.” He lifts the bottle to his mouth, emptying nearly half of it before continuing, “They don’t still hate you, do they?”

Cas blinks down at the floor, not bothering to reply. All three of them know the likelihood of him getting attacked or even killed if he tries to return to heaven.

“Hey. Dumbass.” Dean snaps. Patience has never been one of his virtues, but it’s worsened exponentially since Sam was possessed. “Sound good?

“Yes.” The angel nods, repeating: “Yes.”

Dean allows himself a slight smile before directing his attention towards Crowley as well. “Two hours.”

“Done,” the demon replies, and immediately disappears.

A sense of awkwardness and an even greater sense of fear washes over Cas as he’s left alone with Dean. “You, you won’t be disappointed,” he says.

“I better not be.” The older Winchester pulls Sam’s laptop onto his thighs. “For your sake.”

Cas tugs at his suit, desperate to apologize one more time, but he knows that the Dean of right now will only respond with violence. So he’ll wait, and he’ll continue waiting until his friend is ready to talk, no matter how long that takes.

One final time the angel washes his eyes over Dean’s tense shape. Then, with his heart in his throat, he vanishes as well.

Dean doesn’t bother glancing up. He just opens his brother’s laptop, fingers skimming the keys. “Alright, Sammy.” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean knows that Cas didn't do any of those things to Sam. The rape comment was a bit over the top but, considering the fact that the actual perpetrator is momentarily unavailable, Dean has decided to focus his rage on the next best thing.  
> \-------  
> Don't worry about Cas and Dean. It'll take them a while, but they should be able to figure this out.  
> \-------  
> My making Cas seem like the "bad guy" doesn't reflect my actual feelings towards him. I love all three of the boys equally (maybe Sam a bit more than the other two, but hey) and I won't condone unsubstantiated hate towards any of them. If you want to talk about them in a negative fashion, that's completely fine, and I welcome conversation about their more controversial decisions.  
> I guess what I'm saying is that, yes, I know all three of them are fallible, and no, my own views are not set in stone, but I'd like an example or two as opposed to statement like "I hate Cas just because."  
> \-------  
> On a lighter note, Crowley is a joy to write.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She laughed and danced with the thought of death in her heart." - Hans Christian Andersen

Lucifer takes the stairs two at a time, enjoying Sam’s lanky but athletic legs for the first moment in six years. One of the main things he missed about the boy was how tall he is compared to the average person. It makes him feel powerful, standing so high above his potential victims.

**_And you’re not so hard on the eyes, either._ **

_why do you do this_

**_Do what?_ **

_compliment me_

**_I want you to feel loved, that’s all. Like Dean._ **

_dean never raped me_

**_But he_ ** **has** **_been inside you, hasn't he?_ **

_what the hell are you implying_

**_Absolutely nothing._ **

Lucifer pauses on the stoop, taking in the word ‘Stitches’ in all capital letters nailed just above the awning.

_creative_

**_Very._ **

Pushing the door open, the archangel steps inside.

The little bell that rang at his entrance signals the owner, a short, round, obviously-Italian man with dark hair that covers about as much of his head as does the hair of a monk. His name tag reads ‘Frankie,’ and Lucifer can barely keep himself from rolling his eyes.

_original_

**_Extremely._ **

Frankie moves towards the archangel, thumbs plucking at his suspenders, but he stops before he gets even five feet away. His gaze is locked on what Lucifer is wearing, and he looks almost disgusted.

To be fair, Sam isn’t dressed like someone who would normally visit a tailor. Before they left the motel, Lucifer jimmied his way into a room a few doors down from theirs. He stole a t-shirt and a pair of sneakers, the former of which he later realized is at least two sizes too big, which is quite the feat, considering the younger Winchester’s build. And, as if his outfit couldn’t be more comical, scrawled across the shirt is the phrase ‘Skate or Die.’ It’s no wonder they aren’t being taken seriously, but that doesn’t mean Lucifer still isn’t a little bit irritated.

“Aren’t you going to ask if you can help us--- I mean, me?”

“Alright, how may I help you?” Frankie asks, not trying to hide his annoyance.

Lucifer grins. “I’d like you to make me a suit.”

_please_

“Please,” he adds.

Frankie crosses his arms. “Son, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but---”

“I’m not trying to pull anything. I just want a suit.” The archangel shrugs. “Well, three or four. And maybe some daywear.”

“You do realize---”

“That things like this cost money?” Anger is beginning to infect his words. “Yeah, Danny DeVito, I got that. You ever think I might _actually_ be able to _afford---”_

_calm down_

Lucifer cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, doing his best to follow Sam’s advice. It would most definitely behoove him to try and act like the hunter, speaking gently but firmly and keeping his temper in check. “I have money,” he tries again. “You’re a tailor. And I would appreciate it if you made me a suit.”

Frankie lifts his chin. “Can I see your credit card?”

Reaching into the back pocket of Sam’s jeans, the archangel pulls out a wallet. “Here,” he says as he hands it over.

The tailor flips it open and pulls out one of the credit cards, a black Visa. “Haydn Jones,” he reads aloud, then looks up at his potential client. “That’s you?”

“Since the day I was born.”

Frankie grunts, and his hesitation sets Sam’s heart aflutter.

**_Easy there, cowboy. I’m not gonna kill him._ **

_yet_

**_Yet._ **

Tucking the card back into the wallet, the tailor returns it to Lucifer. “Shall we?” He says, gesturing towards one of the two dressing rooms.

The archangel nods and starts forwards, Frankie close behind.

Haydn Jones isn't an alias that the angel or his boy invented. He is a real person, or at least he was _._ They found the sharply-dressed man walking past their motel, satchel slung over his shoulder as he made his way down the street. They followed him for a little while before Lucifer pulled him off of the sidewalk, angel blade digging into his back as he forced him down a side alley. Haydn refused to give up his belongings, but Lucifer wasn’t in the mood to fool around; he had to get to the bar within the next three hours if he wanted to have time to find himself a new playmate.

So he killed him.

There was no hesitation, no snide remarks; he simply killed him, took his wallet, and threw him in the dumpster sitting just a few yards away. From there they headed to the tailor’s, only stopping to toss Hayden Jones’ license in a trash can three blocks from the scene of the crime.

Lucifer pushes the wooden doors open and steps inside, looking at himself in the mirror.

**_Hot damn._ **

_fuck off_

Frankie moves past his smiling client and retrieves a tape measure from his pocket. “Raise your arms,” he says, and Lucifer obeys.

Fingers brush lightly across his skin as the tailor determines the length of his limbs, and the archangel feels Sam tense up.

**_Relax, babe. He’s just seeing how thick you are._ **

_shut up_

Stepping behind Lucifer, Frankie winds the tape measure around his upper torso, overlapping his pecs.

The archangel lifts his arms higher in order to give him better access. “So, uh,” he starts, clearing his throat. “There any good bars or clubs around here?”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Frankie asks as he pulls away and writes down some numbers on a small notepad. “A specific type of clientele?”

Lucifer chuckles. “Am I really that transparent?”

_yes_

The tailor begins measuring his abdomen. “Not at all, sir.”

Sam’s muscles reflexively tighten against Frankie’s touch, entire body suddenly aware of the direction in which the Italian’s hands are heading.

“I just want to have a few drinks,” Lucifer replies. “I tend to get attached to whoever I hook up with and, since I’m only going to be here for a few more days…”

“I see.” The tailor slides his tape measure down and over Sam’s waist, pausing for a moment when he realizes how boney his client is. Shoulder blades, ribs, and hips all feel like there is barely any skin covering them, if at all.

**_I’m not sure if you realized, but eating is kind of important._ **

_i eat_

**_Even when Dean wasn’t around?_ **

It takes a couple of seconds, but Frankie eventually moves onto the man’s thighs, ordering Lucifer to “spread ‘em.” He touches lightly at the insides of his legs but, much to the archangel’s chagrin, stops a hair’s breadth away from Sam’s cock.

“Try The Carpathian,” the tailor says, finally answering his client’s question. “Good bar, good people, and an ungodly amount of alcohol. Just go up three blocks and then one to the left. Can’t miss it.”

“The Carpathian,” Lucifer repeats, tasting the words.

**_Sound good?_ **

_please don’t do this_

**_I’ll take that as a yes._ **

The archangel allows his arms to fall to his sides and says, “Thanks,” to which Frankie responds with a nod and a low grunt.

It’s about half an hour before the tailor finally finishes with Lucifer. Tucking the tape measure back into his jacket, he leads him back into the main room.

“How many suits do you need?” Frankie asks as he sets himself up behind the front desk.

Lucifer grins, thumbing his nose.

**_Prepare to be impressed, bunk buddy._ **

“I’d like three black, slim-fit, English-cut suits with two white and one black dress shirts, the last one with a tab collar. You can choose the ties,” the archangel says, pausing for no more than two seconds before continuing, “I also want a dark grey blazer, and maybe you can find me a couple of v-necks too. Any neutral colour, long sleeves or short, doesn’t matter. Oh, and a light purple- and white-checkered dress shirt with a maroon sweater.”

Two fingers pressed against his temple, Frankie massages circles into the skin as he leans against his desk. “I’m sorry,” he starts. “Are you saying you want me to design you clothes _and_ retrieve items for you from other stores? I don’t know how to tell you this, son, but that’s not how it works.”

Lucifer eyes him up for a moment before replying, “And if I pay you double?”

“Uh,” the tailor tries, the very idea of earning so much money causing his voice to stumble. “I would--- I would ask you if you--- if you need anything else.”

The archangel crosses his arms, a smirk pulling at his lips. “You know what?” He says. “I would, actually. One black, American-cut suit with a white dress shirt, blue tie, and, if you can find it, a tan trenchcoat.”

_why_

Frankie looks as bewildered as Sam feels, but he still doesn’t question him. The salary bump is all he truly cares about. “Very good, sir.”

“When will they be ready?”

“For you?” The tailor says. “Three days, max.”

“Frankie, baby, you’re an absolute lifesaver.” Lucifer taps the desk. “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

“Until then, sir.”

Turning away, the archangel has practically reached the door before hesitating and looking back at the tailor. “Hey, do you have anything already made, something I can wear to the bar?” He pulls at his shirt. “I’d rather not go there dressed like this.”

“It’s possible. But if you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you’re a bit taller than most of my other customers.” Frankie clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “I’ll check, though, if you’d like.”

“Please.” Lucifer smiles, and the tailor immediately disappears into the back. “Well, isn’t he an eager beaver,” he continues, voice low.

_you won’t pay him_

“And here I thought I was being discreet.” The archangel rests his elbows on the desk. “How do you think I should do it?”

 **** _do what_  

“Kill him."

_you don’t have to do that_

He leans against the wood, peering after Frankie, but the door to the storage room has been closed. “‘Course I do. I need to leave breadcrumbs.”

_i don’t understand_

“Well, how else am I supposed to have any fun on this dad-forsaken planet?”

_i thought_

“That I was going to commit genocide? Apocalypse numéro deux?” Lucifer rubs at his chin. “I mean, yeah, I’m gonna eradicate the world of you monkeys, but not yet. I’ve gotta spark some terror into them first. Like we did to that family.”

_that wasn’t_

The archangel rolls his eyes so hard it actually hurts. “Wasn’t you, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, whatever. The point is, they didn’t die until they were just the right amount of scared. _That’s_ what I’ve got planned for Dad’s little Lego village: scare them fucking shitless, then burn them alive.”

There is soft thump and Lucifer’s eyes flick to the back door, watching as Frankie walks back out, black cover bag draped over his arm.

**_Hey, what do you think we have to do to get on the FBI’s Most Wanted list?_ **

_screw you_

**_As fun as that sounds, I don’t think it’ll be enough. Maybe if I make a tableau out of the bodies like in that cannibal show you boys watch. Or will that feed too much into your serial killer fetish?_ **

_it’s not a fetish_

Frankie leans over the desk, passing Lucifer the bag. “This is the biggest suit I have,” he says, unaware of the conversation going on his client’s mind. “Hopefully it’ll fit.”

Taking care not to let the clothing touch the floor, the archangel returns to the dressing room they occupied just minutes prior. He hangs the bag up on a hook and snaps his fingers, cutting off Sam’s vision before unveiling the suit. He’ll return the boy’s sight once he’s changed.

 **_Oh, you are going to_ ** **love** **_this._ **

The transformation takes barely a minute, so anxious is Lucifer to show himself off. “Oh, _hell yes_ ,” he says softly, then quickly waves a hand. “Alright, Sammy; take a look.”

The hunter’s gaze locks on his reflection in the mirror and, though he doesn’t know why, a renewed terror twists his stomach.

It’s a gorgeous suit, one of the most beautiful Sam has ever seen. And

_fucking hell_

does it look good on him.

The jacket is a brilliant white, as are the pants. The dress shirt is almost an off-white, contrasting the rest of the set wonderfully. All that’s missing are a matching pair of oxfords.

_not brogues_

**_Obviously._ **

Lucifer raises a hand to his right lapel, touching his fingers lightly against the source of Sam’s fear: a single, red rose.

**_Why so skittish?_ **

_i don’t i don’t know_

“Whatever.” Removing the fake flower from his suit, the archangel gently places it in his jacket pocket. “We’ll figure it out later.” Without waiting for a response, he picks up his stolen clothing and pushes open the dressing room door.

Frankie is standing just outside, looking a bit too excited. “Well?”

Lucifer pulls the rubber band out of his hair and shakes his head like a dog, allowing the locks to settle. That’s one other thing he loves about the big galoot: whether it be wet, dry, or even sex-ruffled, his hair always looks good. “I’ll take it,” he says finally, and an even bigger grin breaks out across the tailor’s face. Ignoring him, the archangel pulls Haydn’s wallet from Sam’s jeans. “How much do I owe you?”

Shaking his head, Frankie waves a hand. “It’s on the house. I’ve had that thing since October 2009. The guy who ordered it - Paul Bennett - never showed up, and it doesn’t really fit anyone else, so…”

“Frankie,” Lucifer says as he tosses the t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers into the trash, “you’re a goddamn saint.” He tucks the wallet into the back pocket of his new pants. “You wouldn’t happen to have any shoes that match, would you?”

The tailor slides a pair of white oxfords and matching socks from behind the cash register. In yet another stroke of luck, they appear to be Sam’s size. “They’re a twelve,” the Italian says as he passes them over.

Lucifer kneels down, knowing before he tries them on that they are definitely going fit. Frankie might be a slight dick, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know his stuff.

**_Though he could’ve come up with a better name than ‘Stitches.’_ **

Sam doesn’t reply, and the archangel has to keep himself from playing detective. Whatever it is, whatever has him spooked will have to wait.

“They’re perfect,” Lucifer says, standing back up.

“Good.” Frankie claps his hands together. “Now, I hate to have to ask you to leave but, if I’m to get all of this done in time, I must begin working immediately.”

“No problem,” the archangel replies with a slight nod.

Both of them turn away from each other at the same time, the tailor retreating to the back as his client heads towards the door.

Lucifer smiles as he steps out onto the landing.

**_A-hunting we will go..._ **

_wait_

**_A-hunting we will go…_ **

_please_

**_High-ho, the derry-o, a-hunting we will go!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not abandoning this work. I'm just finishing up 'Consequences' first.   
> \--------------  
> References:  
> 1\. Skate or Die - popular online post  
> 2\. Haydn Jones - David Haydn-Jones (Mr. Ketch)  
> 3\. Cannibal show - Hannibal  
> 4\. Oxfords, not brogues - Kingsman  
> 5\. White suit with rose - The End (5x04)  
> 6\. October 2009 - The End aired October 1, 2009  
> 7\. Paul Bennett - character from Dexter depicted by Mark Pellegrino (Lucifer)


End file.
